


Change of Plans

by nagi_schwarz



Series: Juris Imprudence [6]
Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-03-19
Packaged: 2018-05-27 17:04:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6292648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nagi_schwarz/pseuds/nagi_schwarz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the comment_fic prompt: Any, any, Change of Plans. Rodney and John had plans to work at home. And then they went into the office. Drunk paralegals, dancing, and French ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Change of Plans

"All right," John said, "remember the plan. In, grab the files, out, get home, order some take-out from that Thai place, and then we can take tomorrow off guilt-free."  
  
Rodney resisted the urge to salute. He wondered if that was what John had sounded like as a soldier. Not that he'd been in any intense combat or anything as a JAG officer. "I remember the plan. Let's go."  
  
They parked the car and circled around the building to the employee entrance. During the day they went through security entrance, but as senior associates, they had access to the private elevator after hours. It was awesome. That one really crazy lady who ran the fashion design studio couldn't try and corner them for free legal advice or make unsolicited officers to design their tuxes for their wedding (which wasn't in the cards right now but for which there was probably an office pool).  
  
John had it down to a science and timed. Swipe the card, in the door, up the elevator, out the elevator, swipe the card, in the back door –  
  
Everything ground to a halt at the back door. John peered in, and a wicked grin spread across his face.  
  
"Change of plans," he said. "Get out your phone, order some Thai, and have them deliver it here. We're going to have some official office hours."  
  
Rodney protested. "What? Why? But at home we can hang out on the couch and pet Oppenheimer or pet each other and make out and –"  
  
"You'll see," John said, swiping his key card.  
  
Rodney went in for the kill, leaned close and whispered in John's ear, " _Mais mon cher, je veux ton corps, ta peau, ta bouche –_ "  
  
John shivered. "Not fair, Rodney. Besides, you'll see what I mean in just a moment." And he eased into the office, stepping silently, so Rodney followed suit and kept his footfalls as quiet as possible.  
  
But there was no need, because loud music was playing. Swing music, by the sounds of it, only the lyrics weren't any swing songs Rodney knew. He was pretty sure no swing songs referenced sex clubs, after all.  
  
Rodney couldn't tell where the music was coming from, but that didn't matter, because plenty of computers were on, and it could have been coming from any one of them.  
  
Lorne, Zelenka, Stackhouse, and pretty much every paralegal ever, were having what looked like a drunken dance party in the middle of the office.  
  
While case files were open and spread everywhere. Lorne was spinning Katie Brown around a dance floor demarcated by accordion files. Zelenka was standing at the copier, bobbing his head and shaking his shoulders to the beat.  
  
Stackhouse and Marie Cho (Carson's paralegal) were mixing drinks at Marie's desk, which was cleared of all work gear and covered with bottles of liquor and tumblers.  
  
Vega and Mehra were side by side at Vega's desk, sorting trial exhibits into binders.  
  
"So," Rodney said in a low voice, "whenever the paralegals talked about trial prep parties –"  
  
"They really meant parties," John said, and he was grinning.  
  
Markham, as it turned out, could break-dance like a champ, barefoot and spinning on his head and shoulders on one of the plastic mats that was supposed to protect the carpets from the rolling chairs. Lam and Nyan cheered him on. When he took over the dance floor, Lorne and Katie removed themselves from it and resumed their work on what was probably the motion binder for Parrish's upcoming oral argument with the EPA.  
  
"We're never going to get any work done with this noise," Rodney said.  
  
"Sure we are," John said. "I have a bottle of Bushmills in my desk. Let's join in."  
  
"Aren't we totally going to cramp their style?" Rodney asked.  
  
Vega had pushed Mehra down on the desk and was doing a shot of tequila off her belly.  
  
"I don't think so," John said. He headed into his office, returned a moment later with a bottle of whiskey.  
  
When the song ended, Lorne said, "All right! Rally the troops!"  
  
The others scrambled to raise shot glasses fill of various liquids.  
  
"To battle!" Lorne cried, and the others echoed him.  
  
"For Woolsey!"  
  
John raised his bottle and shouted, "For Woolsey!"  
  
Rodney stared at him. "Are you insane?"  
  
"Join in," John hissed, so Rodney did on, "For O'Neill!"  
  
"And for Weir!"

The paralegals shouted, cheered, and drank, and then someone yelled _dance break!_ and a newer, faster song came on, and everyone piled onto the dance floor. No one noticed when John and Rodney joined in, because everyone was dancing with everyone, switching partners, stealing kisses and roaming hands and having way too much fun.

And when the song ended, the paralegals returned to their respective work stations, turned the music a little lower, and kept on working. John and Rodney took up station at Chuck and Amelia's desk, John helping Rodney run calculations on a new patent application. One by one, the paralegals – or pairs of them – took their turns on the dance floor (to keep themselves awake, Rodney realized before the whiskey stole half of his lucidity), and they kept on working, and once an hour, every hour, they took a dance break.

Rodney and John were on their third duet dance break before Lorne even realized they were there, he was so gone (and he'd finished Parrish's file and was on to Jonas Quinn's), and when he saw them, he grinned, clapped John on the shoulder, and took another shot.

The next day, Rodney and John stayed home, nursing hangovers but free to take the day off. Rodney pretended to ignore the smug amusement radiating from Walter over the phone when he called in sick for both of them.

Rodney texted Teyla later, asking how the paralegals were doing, and she said they were all fine; was there a reason to be worried about them?

The paralegals were definitely robots.

All of them.

But especially Lorne.


End file.
